


Dancing

by littlewitchhazels



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fugue Feast (Dishonored), One Shot, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Slow Dancing, and flustered jessamine figuring out her feelings, i need some fluff ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewitchhazels/pseuds/littlewitchhazels
Summary: "Jessamine felt it was necessary to never join in the dangerous dance of chaos and temptation. But on this night… She had the faintest desire to bend her self-laid rules, just a touch."





	Dancing

The festivities of the Fugue Feast echoed through the walls of Dunwall Tower from down below, where the common folk revelled in joyous sin. The one time in their religious calendar when they were free of the strict Scriptures and the typical conventions of society. Though Jessamine, herself, had never partook in the Feast, she always dreamed of what it would be like; to dance away the nights, intoxicate herself in a haze of smoke and strong drink, lie in another mans bed away from the prying eyes of the court. Despite her rather loose belief in the Abbey, and release of the rules laid down by the Overseers, Jessamine felt it was necessary to never join in the dangerous dance of chaos and temptation. But on this night… She had the faintest desire to bend her self-laid rules, just a touch.

The tower was empty, save for a collection of trusted guards and her loyal Protector, all the staff dismissed for the one night of the long year. Such a silence that fell upon the tower in the early hours was enough to make Jessamine’s ears ring in the absence of any other noise. Now, however, the Fugue Feast was in full swing, and its revelry heard in every corner of the Isle — some places more than most. The Empress sat alone in her study, pouring over the last of her paperwork with a glass of whiskey by her side. Just a little something for the night. Her eyes felt sore and gritty from staring at the small print of what felt like a thousand documents, and her hand ink-stained and aching from the many signatures that graced at least a hundred of those pages. Despite the festival, it was certainly a dull day (and becoming a dull night) for her.

With a sigh, Jessamine pushed away the last of her papers. Perhaps it was time to take a break. “Corvo?”

She barely heard the man as he walked in, but, spending so much time in his company, she felt his presence upon her as soon as he entered the room. Before he could get a word in, Jessamine shoved herself away from the desk, glass of whiskey in hand, and stood before him. “I’ve grown weary of all these missives and documents,” she sighed, “walk with me?”

It wasn’t much of a question despite her phrasing — and Corvo went practically everywhere with her, as was his duty as Lord Protector — yet she stated it as so. It felt only right. Corvo nodded and offered an arm, which she took gladly after taking one last sip of her whiskey and setting it down on the desk once more. “As you wish, my lady.”

“Jessamine. We’re alone, you can call me Jessamine.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Jessamine rolled her eyes, but Corvo took no notice. It was a failing attempt to become more ‘acquainted’ with her Protector. Though some days he was soft, smiling, and friendly (though always maintaining a professional air), others he was strictly decorum. Perhaps she desired the closeness her father had with his Lord Protector… But maybe that wasn’t the relationship she would glean from her own stubborn bodyguard, much to her disappointment.

Corvo led her through the doors of her study, nodding to the guard positioned outside, and soon allowed her to take the lead. Gently, Jessamine led him through the halls and regaled him in idle conversation concerning the festivities going on down in Dunwall proper. “Tell me, Corvo, what is — or was — the Fugue Feast like back in Karnaca? Different from here, I take it?”

It took a while for Corvo to respond, whether he was reluctant to answer or lost in thought Jessamine did not know. “It is, for the most part, the same.”

“Oh? No interesting twists?”

There was that silence again before his response. “Perhaps the celebrations are more… Well, they are just ‘more’ in general — Dancing, drinking, feasting, all to an extreme and occasionally under the influence of more than just alcohol.”  
He gestured vaguely at the air, searching for the words. Jessamine took the opportunity to steer him down the stairs to the ground floor of the tower. “Dark magic, Outsider worship, thought I’m sure your Abbey preaches of it enough for you to know as much.”

Jessamine leaned in close, as if to shield her words away from any eavesdroppers (even if there were none). “Did you ever take part? In the general festivities, I mean.”

Corvo looked at her as if she had gone mad, eyes flicking away from her face “I— No, I’d never. Not that I’m wholly against—“

“Ah, hush, Corvo. No need to elaborate,” she pursed her lips and smiled, “and no need to lie either. It’s the Fugue Feast! Whatever happens, no one else ever needs to know about. Unless you want them to. Ah! Here we are!”

Somewhat relieved by the abrupt change in topic, Corvo nodded wordlessly and turned his gaze to the empty entrance hall, devoid of its usual crowd of dignitaries, servants, guards, and whatnot. It was almost peaceful. Jessamine slipped away from his side and rushed down the stairs to the empty foyer. The sound of her shoes clacking against the marble echoing all through the halls.

This was the part of her sheltered Fugue Feast that she always loved. The emptiness of the tower, and the peace and quiet that came with it. Whilst the common folk relished their raucous revelry, Jessamine relished the one time in the whole year she could find any sort of calm stability. Where else, after all, would she find it when ruling the Isles and appeasing parliament?

From here she could hear the music from down below more clearly, along with the laughter of her people and the stomping of their feet as they danced in unison to an old folk song. Jessamine vaguely remembered the disjointed swaying steps, taught to her by a servant girl so long ago: one, two, one and two, one, one, one and two. The words, however, escaped her mind entirely. Something about a sailor at sea… And whales, no doubt.

Jessamine began to sway to the distant music, feet tracing the simple steps along the marble floors. Perhaps she was not down there with her people, but she could still enjoy the infectious melody from the confines of her tall tower.

Each step more enthusiastic than the last, laughing to herself as Jessamine allowed herself to be carried away by the music, until she caught sight of Corvo staring quizzically at her from the corner of her eye. And a faint idea sparked in her head; a silly daydream she had repeated in her head on long days over and over again, never tiring of the oddly entertaining image and lovely feeling that swelled inside her. A warm flush spread across her cheeks and her stomach fluttered as she considered the possibility; every alternative, every outcome.

_This is a terrible idea. A terrible, terrible idea!_

But it was the Fugue Feast! Weren’t terrible ideas all part of the celebrations? And it was as she said to Corvo not moments before: Whatever happens, no one else ever needs to know about… So she swallowed her fears and stepped towards Corvo.

Slowly, Jessamine offered a hand to her Lord Protector, who eyed strange move her warily. “Corvo Attano,” she said, “would you do me the honour of—“

She swallowed, all eloquent words escaping her in that moment. Damn her fumbling! Jessamine pulled back her hand ever so slightly before beginning again. Simply, this time. “Will you… Dance with me, Lord Protector?”

A soft laugh escaped his lips as he looked away, abashed; Jessamine could have sworn she saw him blush, as she was now. “I’m afraid I do not know how.”

“It’s quite simple, really, I’ll lead. And… That wasn’t a ‘no’.”

His eyes swept over her once more, the gears turning in his head as he went through the scenario over and over again in his head like any other move made by some member of court towards her. Just as Jessamine thought he would politely decline, he took her hand. Their fingers intertwining in a loose lattice, her pale manicured fingers lacing with his long calloused ones. Slowly, he put a hand to her hip and stepped so close she could almost—

 _No,_ she chastised herself, _don’t._

Never in all the years Corvo had served her as Lord Protector has she seen such uncertainty muddle his movements and cloud his gaze. Strange, really, to see a man so sure and stern look so utterly lost. “Simple steps, Corvo, a waltz.”

He cleared his throat uncertainly, but Jessamine took it as a sign to begin. “One, two, three, one, two— No, no, no!”

Corvo tripped over her feet and squeezed her hand tightly, clinging onto her waist as if he were dancing on the edge of a precipice rather than in an empty foyer. Jessamine righted herself, and gave Corvo a moment to compose himself. before slowly taking him through the steps once more. Restraining each movement to a slow, steady beat. It was strange to lead the dance, as Jessamine — a lady, and Empress — was so accustomed to the many nobles, officers, and admirals who vied for her attention to yank her along in a rigid and ultimately uninteresting waltz. Whether it was her newfound position, or the company she found herself in, Jessamine found herself enjoying this dance far more than any other before.

Despite the somewhat clumsy steps, and Corvo’s constant tripping and apologies, she found a peculiar harmony in the slow, deliberate steps of their dance.

One, two, three, one, two, three, over and over again in her head. Step right, and back, then left, and back. Not even in time with the music playing from below, just their own silent song to dance to. Such a simple waltz, and yet she couldn’t help the giddy smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Who knew a little dalliance such as this could be so much fun.

Slowly, Corvo’s grip on her hand and waist loosened as he gained confidence in the steps of the waltz. One, two, three, one, two, three, without so much as a slip-up. Every so often, he dared to step boldly — quicken the pace and sway to the soundless rhythm.

“You’ve got the hang of this quite quickly,” Jessamine laughed, “almost as if you were lying about not being able to dance.”

Corvo shrugged. “It is not so different from a dance of crossed blades.”

She supposed he was right. This was nothing compared to the complex and unpredictable footwork Corvo worked with when sparring with soldiers in the barracks, or defending her from any ill-meaning assailants during her days at court.

They waltzed across the foyer, spiralling and swaying to the imaginary music, barely a care in the world. Jessamine looked up to Corvo, staring down adamantly at his feet, and smiled at the softness of his features — relaxed other than the intense concentration he dedicated to the step so the dance. She shifted her hand to nudge his head up. “Stand tall,” she whispered, despite the absence of her usual adoring crowd, “and always look your partner in the eye when you dance. Court manners, Corvo.”

He swiftly straightened and met her eyes with one of his rare smiles — a mask of confidence to hide the sheepishness that clouded his eyes — reserved only for her. “If I trip—“

“Don’t worry, Corvo, relax. That’s the only way you’ll enjoy yourself!”

She whisked him away in a flourish of swirling fabric and fumbling feet, laughing the whole way through, dancing their way across the foyer once more. One, two, three, one, two, three. A step here, a spin here, a sort of ‘half-dip’ there. Over and over again ’til her head was spinning and her mind reeling from the dizzy breathlessness that took over her. By the end, she and Corvo were almost leaning on each other, laughing giddily, as they drunkenly stumbled around, her forehead pressed against his chest. Even after the beautiful music outside had long since died down, and the only tune they danced to were the drunken shanties that echoed throughout Dunwall, they still waltzed across the empty foyer.

As they danced, Jessamine dared to look up at Corvo’s face once again — so terribly close now. Her heart fluttered at his breathy laughter and the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. And when his eyes caught her staring, a flush of red coloured her cheeks, and she could only hope that the dusting of pale powder across her face concealed the embarrassing blush. Laughing nervously, and suddenly very aware of the inappropriate lack of space between the two of them, Jessamine slowed the waltz so that they stood swaying at the foot of the steps that climbed up towards the main hall. Despite her prior chastising of Corvo concerning the nature of the Fugue Feast, she couldn’t help but be painfully aware of all the overstepped boundaries and rigid decorum that set her fancies apart from that of the common woman.

They soon came to a stop, Jessamine gripping on the sleeves of Corvo’s Lord Protector coat as she pulled herself from his arms. “I think that’s quite enough for tonight, Corvo.” She whispered quietly, despite the gaping absence of people in the room.

Jessamine cleared her throat awkwardly, straightening her clothes and tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear. Though her head still spun from their playful waltz, she deliberately did not lean against Corvo to steady herself — an apparently dangerous move, it would seem. Perhaps it was silly of her to be so flustered over stray thoughts of nothing, especially on the eve in which neither the Court nor the Overseers could damn her for such foolishness, but… Better to be safe than sorry, she supposed.

“I should like to retire now…”

She did not wait for Corvo to kindly offer his hand this time, instead she walked ahead whilst he trailed behind — ever-vigilant, ever-watching. Jessamine could have tried to dismiss him right then and there, but she knew from countless teenage tantrums that such an act would never result to anything. A constant presence that never left her side, a long shadow against the dazzling glint of ballroom chandeliers and whale oil lamps illuminating the halls of the Parliament, yet only now did she find it… Bothersome.

Yes, Jessamine had considered such thoughts before, but not to such an extent! They were persistent little things, like the way she couldn’t help but notice the way in which stray strands of Corvo’s long hair escaped their tight tie and fell in front of his eyes, or the small furrow of his brow when immersed in concentration, or the softness of his features the one time Jessamine caught him staring contemplatively out of a window one rainy day. But then there was the way the rare Dunwall sun would shine through the heavy haze of cloud and turn his eyes honey-gold in the pale light, and the sureness of his movements in the way he walked and used his hands to further articulate his points and arguments throughout discussion—

 _No,_ she scolded herself, _no more, no more, no more!_

It irked her that she was once so sure of the way she felt — as a friend, acquaintance, or any sort of relationship involving a sense of mutual respect — but now she wasn’t so sure. As she wrangled with her unprecedented thoughts concerning her Lord Protector, Corvo had suddenly placed a gentle hand on her shoulder — almost making her jump out of her skin — and steered her towards the door to her chambers. Jessamine quickly brushed him away and bottled up her troublesome inner turmoil for another time (probably the moment she shut the door, no doubt).

Without waiting for a response, she stepped away, unable to meet his eyes, and bowed gracefully. Corvo returned the gesture, “It was an honour, my lady, and… A pleasant time.”

“I suppose it was,” Jessamine mumbled with a smile, “Thank you, for indulging me.”

She was about to close the door behind her when a frantic thought popped into her head, and she slipped out into the hallway once more, hands wringing together with uncertainty. “Corvo?”

Her Lord Protector turned around, brows raised at the look on her face and the shifting motion of her hands. “Yes, my lady?”

Jessamine swallowed nervously. “If you could… Perhaps not say anything about tonight, please? You know how the court loves gossip, especially concerning me and—“ She stopped herself, reworking her words in her head before slowly articulating the rest of request. “Well, gossip concerning my private affairs. Dealing with Parliament is difficult as it is…”

She could already imagine the looks, the snide remarks, the insufferably smiles that were commonplace as it was magnified tenfold; a scene straight from her most dreadful nightmares. Jessamine hated the absurd amount of attention devoted to rumours of romance and courtship concerning her, made even worse when her father passed away when she was still but a girl.

Much to her surprise, Corvo laughed quietly and put a finger to his lips. “It’s the Fugue Feast, my lady, whatever happens, no one else ever needs to know about.”

Jessamine could only stare, agape, and simply could not fight the smile that was tugging at the corners of her painted lips. “I might have heard that somewhere,” she mused, “but I can’t recall when, or where.”

Corvo smiled — and Jessamine couldn’t help but notice the way in which the corners of Corvo’s lips pulled into a smile with the barest flash of teeth — and bowed once more. “Good night, my lady.”

 _Jessamine_ , she wanted to say, _you can call me Jessamine_. Instead, she simply returned his smile and gentle words as she stepped through the ornate doors to her chamber, her voice once again becoming soft despite the absence of nosy ministers and haughty society women.

“Good night, Corvo,” she said quietly, “I will see you in the new year.”

**Author's Note:**

> I dug up this old piece I'd written a little while back and thought it might be worth sharing :)


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